Bon Voyage
by AmaranteX
Summary: A murder investigation takes an unexpected turn, and Will Graham finds himself gaining a surprisingly familiar ally in the fight against a clever serial killer. Will/OC. Sequel to 'Bon Appétit'.
1. Rebelle

It's finally here! The sequel to Bon Appétit!

Enjoy!

Beta: NemiNightingale

* * *

_**Present time**_

She pulled her car up to the curb further down the street than she would normally park. The usually empty street was packed with parked cars, making it impossible for her small vehicle to get closer to her destination.

'Someone on the road must be having a party,' she reasoned, getting out of the car to treat her back to a much needed stretch after having driven a ridiculous amount of miles in the past couple of days. Now all she wanted was a nice hot bath, a warm meal and a comfortable bed.

Hopefully she would be able to get all of the above before she had to move on to her next planned visit.

* * *

_**One week earlier**_

It was quiet in the office. As soon as Hannibal had greeted Will at the door, and they had gotten themselves comfortable in the chairs in which Hannibal usually conducted his sessions, the silence had settled. Will's furrowed brows and faraway look had initially kept Hannibal quiet, but after a couple of minutes, he decided he had given Will enough time.

"I see Miss Vodall has been neglecting to answer your calls," Hannibal started, crossing his legs after leaning back in his chair.

The sudden sound startled Will out of his reverie.

"Why do you assume this is about her?" Will questioned, his composure the picture perfect model of casual curiosity, but Hannibal was not fooled. He fought back a smug smirk at Will's very well-concealed defensiveness. No matter how many times he poked at it, Ashland Vodall would always be a sore bruise.

"Because smitten men tend to center their thoughts around the woman they find themselves in love with," Hannibal prodded, taking in Will's crossed arms and clenched jaw.

A quiet 'hmph' of disdain came from Will.

"Love..." Will trailed off, carefully choosing his next words. "...I find to be a strange concept," he finished, pronouncing the words slowly but surely.

"How so?" Hannibal questioned, giving his undivided attention to the man in front of him.

"I find myself unable to distinguish between genuine affection and a more... distanced curiosity."

Will leaned forward, resting his arms on his thighs and loosely intertwining his fingers between his legs.

"Perhaps you are experiencing both," Hannibal reasoned, shifting his position forward to mirror Will's, with his forearms comfortably resting on his thighs.

"How can you be both distanced and affectionate?"

The strikingly accurate parallel to their own relation dawned on Hannibal at Will's question.

"In a balanced and healthy relationship, I would assume you can't. There is something about Ashland that keeps you curious and accounts for your distance. In order to reach the closeness one might associate with love, you need to close the distance. You need to get past your curiosity or find a way to satisfy it."

Hannibal silently hoped their bond would soon be beyond distance and secrets.

"But what if I'm not the only one keeping my distance?" Will questioned, leaning back in his seat.

Hannibal had a feeling this wasn't entirely about Ashland anymore.

"Then perhaps you both have some curiosities to satisfy."

The silence grew in the room, leaving the atmosphere heavy as Hannibal took in Will with an unblinking stare.

"If you don't mind me asking," Hannibal started, breaking the suffocating silence that was brimming with unspoken questions and returning to the matter at hand. "What is it about Ashland that has gotten you curious?"

Will hesitated, not entirely keen on answering the question.

"I can't … See her," he finally declared, meeting the curious gaze of Hannibal Lecter opposite of him.

"Then I can see how you might find yourself curious."

* * *

Her hurried steps echoed off the bare walls as Beverly Katz walked down the hallway towards the lab with a determined Will Graham on her heels.

"I'm sorry Will, but we can't get a positive ID on the body," it came apologetically from Beverly as she turned towards him and stopped to give him the bad news.

"No fingerprints, dentals, anything?" Will interrogated, prompting Beverly to turn right back around and move on towards the lab. He had been grilling her all morning about this issue.

"Have you _seen _the body?" came the incredulous reply from Beverly as she shot him a disbelieving look over her shoulder.

The body was scorched beyond recognition. No way were they going to be able to identify it.

"Not for very long, no. _Hannibal _wouldn't permit it," Will replied, his frustration seeping through every single syllable of his psychiatrist's name.

The crime scene investigator shot Will a quick look of sympathy before continuing into the lab, greeting her fellow colleagues who were preoccupied with a previous victim.

"No arms, no dentals," Beverly started, taking place at the left side of the body, as Will stood on the opposite side of the table, inspecting the charred remains in front of him.

"The only shot we'd have at a meagre ID would be by footprint, and it's not like we have a database of those lying around," she continued with a rise of an eyebrow at the dry humor, gesturing towards the thoroughly singed feet.

"Don't look at me, I've always been all for alternative identification methods! The bureau didn't seem too _excited_ about the footprint database suggestion I made a couple of years ago," Jimmy chimed in, sounding sarcastically miffed.

"You mean decades ago. Back in your forensic science class in freshman year," Brian chimed in, looking up from the most recent victim he was picking apart.

"I resent that," Jimmy shot back in a teasing tone.

"You said a footprint would give a meagre ID," Will hesitantly remarked, looking doubtfully at the singed feet while ignoring the morbidly casual banter that was going on around him.

He would pursue any potential opportunity, to be certain the body in front of them was Ashland Vodall.

"It was a joke, they're half-melted," Beverly replied, her face twisted into a look that represented sheepishness and a slightly sympathetic look. "Sorry, Will."

The look of sympathy was soon replaced by one of hesitation, and Will immediately knew what Beverly was about to say

She looked down at the body before settling her eyes back on Will.

"Look, Will…"

"Don't, Beverly."

Knowing he wasn't going to stop obsessing about this, but also knowing she wouldn't be able to live with herself if she didn't get this on the table, she disregarded his comment and continued anyway.

"The way I see it, there are three likely scenarios here. Scenario number 1: This is Ashland," Beverly sent a nod towards the body, "Scenario number 2: Ashland has been kidnapped, in which case she's more than likely not much better off," she paused, knowing the last scenario was the least likely one. "Or scenario number 3: She left without telling anyone, and with no means of contacting her."

A short silence spread between the two, as Will regarded Beverly. He took a deep breath before looking away from the woman in front of him, and resettling his gaze on the charred body on the table.

"Reassuring as always," he stated quietly, his voice drier than the Sahara desert.

Beverly mentally gave a sigh of relief. He had taken it better than she would have expected him to, suggesting Will had already given any and every alternative scenario much thought and consideration. He knew what a disappearing-act like this normally meant.

"I'm sorry Will, but I don't want to give you false hope…"

Beverly caught Will's eyes again.

"This could very well be her," Beverly stated quietly, her look empathetic but watchful, searching his face, his eyes for any indication that this was breaking him.

Of course it was breaking him, but he couldn't allow himself to show her that. Ashland was personal to him. She was the one thing that he felt like he didn't share with the FBI or with Hannibal Lecter. Any feelings he had regarding Ashland he desperately tried to keep hidden behind a thick wall of detachment that his work provided, as he didn't know how else to keep the two things separate. Ashland had unknowingly and without a doubt unwillingly invaded the thing he tried to keep her separate from.

_'You know what they say, you don__'__t mix business with pleasure__'__, _he caught himself thinking.

The unvoiced comment brought forth a sting of self-disgust. Ashland wasn't just _pleasure_, she was much more than that. And he needed to get closure somehow. Whether it be by finding her killer or by finding her, preferably alive.

He zoned out of his muddled mind and focused all of his attention back into the conversation.

"I am fully aware of that," Will started, staring candidly into Beverly's eyes. "The problem is…" he continued, but found himself unable to finish the sentence.

He was reluctant to tell her. But it was something that needed to be done, something that needed to be said.

He looked towards the rest of the science team and found them sufficiently preoccupied for him to reveal his little secret to Beverly without it spreading to the rest of the team.

Lowering his voice, he cleared his throat to speak.

"Everything seems unclear and... Blurred. There is something more, but I can't…"

He stopped himself to gather his thoughts. He was never terribly good at monologues; that had always been Hannibal's domain.

Collecting his thoughts he strayed from his original sentence, and finished with whatever seemed to make the most sense.

"There's some sort of barrier I can't get past."

What else could you say to explain, that the empathetic web you normally find yourself entangled in is malfunctioning for one person? The situation was fairly rare and beyond bizarre.

And from the silence forming in the room, he wasn't entirely sure Beverly was picking up on his veiled insinuation before she suddenly replied, seemingly out of context.

"You know, Hannibal told me something about Ashland," she spoke, her voice confident and her eyes determined and relentless in their search for an answer.

Will nodded for her to continue.

"You can't... _See_ her?"

She had gotten the hint after all.

"No," came his simple reply. There wasn't really much more to say about it.

She wanted to know more, he could see it on her face.

"Have you stopped to think that perhaps there's a reason why everything is unclear?" Beverly questioned, her brows lifted in innocent curiosity, causing Will to regard her with skepticism.

"You're saying you think I can't see her, because she's dead," he stated in a flat tone.

Death normally didn't stop him or his _talent._

Beverly gave a sigh of frustration at Will's obvious skepticism.

"I'm _saying _it's got something to do with her, and you shouldn't disregard the fact that either this is her, or someone is out to get her," she retorted, tired of seeing Will in an obvious state of denial.

"I'm not disregarding anything, I'm trying to make sense of it. But jumping to conclusions based on an assumption without evidence doesn't seem like the way to go_,_" Will countered, putting both of his palms on the edge of table in front of him, putting his weight onto his hands to lean forward in order to get his point across with Beverly.

"Every single scenario of what could have happened has gone through my mind, and not a single one containing her murder makes sense," he continued, cementing his faith in her survival."If there's logic, there's evidence. Keep looking," he finished, his eyes blazing and daring her to refuse.

The look in his eyes immediately told her that she had lost. But if she couldn't convince him with words, she would have to do so with science. Her small nod of acceptance prompted a grateful look to pass over Will's face before he turned around and left, leaving Beverly to her work with a soft "thank you".

Will didn't make it far outside the lab before crossing paths with Jack Crawford, who was having a fast paced conversation with an unfamiliar FBI-agent. He looked away from the conversation for a second, and greeted Will with a small nod of the head, signaling that he would be with him soon, before finishing his conversation.

"...The cellphone is nowhere to be found, but I need you to pull up her phone records; we need to know who the killer was talking to, and when. Perhaps that will give us a bit of a timeline," Jack finished off, absentmindedly waving the unfamiliar FBI-agent to do his job.

"Will," Jack greeted.

"Jack," Will greeted back, quickly getting on with the conversation to get what he wanted. "I need to be put on this case."

Jack's stern demeanor shifted into a look of uncertainty, and he narrowed his eyes at Will in skepticism. He knew very well why Will wanted to be put on the case, and he wasn't sure it would be a good idea. Scratch that, it would be a terrible idea to have Will on the case.

"There was a reason I didn't want you on the crime scene," he pointed out, "Ashland Vodall was your friend," Jack finished, hoping Will would just let it go, even though he knew he wouldn't.

"Is. I can help," Will insisted, adamant about his case.

"_Was_," Jack corrected sternly, mentally adding the fact that Will Graham still believed in his friend's survival to the list of reasons why he absolutely _shouldn__'__t_ be out in the field on this one. "I'm not sure I want you in on this," he added, despite knowing the chances of finding the killer were much greater if they had Will on board if he was able to let go of the absurd notion that Ashland Vodall was still alive.

"You can trust me on this, Jack," it came from Will, his voice quiet, but with a steady and firm tone. He desperately needed the distraction.

"It's not about whether I can trust you, it's about whether you can trust your own mind," Jack exclaimed, the volume of his voice raising along with his frustration. "And if _I_ can trust it, for that matter," he added, restraining himself in order not to shout.

Will stayed silent. He couldn't argue with that. His increasing occurrences of losing time were unsettling to him, but that didn't mean he could afford to back down from this case because of it.

Jack looked around and found a few straggling FBI-agents walking around before taking a step closer to Will, not wanting what he was about to say to suddenly become common knowledge around the Bureau.

"I know that you can't _see _her," Jack said, his voice low and stern.

Will was not surprised Jack had gotten hold of that small piece of information.

"Hannibal told you," he lightly accused. He had been expecting this, he just wished his expectations hadn't been so spot on.

"He had to," Jack asserted, his voice loud and resounding in the sterile and empty hallway.

Still Will stayed silent.

The obnoxious silence Will was providing had Jack's lips firmly pushed together as he tried to calm himself by taking deep breaths through his nose, soothing his temper.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't put you on a leave of absence right now," Jack demanded, his voice dangerously low.

"I don't necessarily need my _gift _to investigate, I worked in homicide for years," Will started. He hesitated, lowering his voice before continuing. "I need a chance," he insisted calmly.

"A chance for what?" Jack bellowed, his temper flaring at Will's obstinate demeanor.

"A chance to figure this out. We're a flock of sheep, Jack. And we're being herded in the wrong direction."

Jack suddenly fell silent, and the two stared at each other, daring the other to break eye contact. The silence lasted for all of 10 seconds before Jack exhaled deeply through his nose and relaxed the intensity of his glare.

"You want to find the herder," he stated quietly, gaining a "yes" from Will, putting Jack into a contemplating silence. "I'll put you on the case as a consulting special agent," it suddenly came from Jack, at which Will found himself holding back a big sigh of relief. "But I want Hannibal in on this; if he sees even the smallest thing that suggests you can't handle it, you're off the case," Jack continued, gaining only a hesitant nod of approval from his colleague.

"Now, get out of here before I change my mind," were Jack's last words as he turned and walked down the corridor in a fast, determined stride, leaving Will completely alone in the deserted hallway.

A sharp exhale that was a mixture of amusement and disbelief came from Will at the superior officer's behavior, before he turned around and swiftly stalked the opposite way, on the lookout for the second of the only two people he knew would be useful to him in this investigation: Hannibal Lecter.

* * *

She knocked on the door and waited, feeling the confusion well up in her at the muted sounds of casual chatter coming from the house.

'_Are they having guests?__'_ she wondered, hoping her visit wasn't too badly timed. She probably should have called ahead.

Nobody answered the door and she knocked again, thinking none had heard the door due to the conversing guests her parents seemed to be having.

Mid-knock the door finally swung open, and a woman stood in front of her, clad in black from head to toe and looking at her like she had seen a ghost.

In the house behind the woman, all of her friends and family could be seen, also dressed in different variants of black, while something that sounded suspiciously like Chris Tomlin's' version of 'Amazing Grace' played softly in the background, creating a subdued atmosphere in the living room of her childhood home.

* * *

Jack found just the person he was looking for in his office, only a few hallways away from his confrontation with Will Graham.

"Hannibal, just the person I was looking for," he acknowledged, putting his hand out in greeting, as Hannibal stood from his comfortable seat in front of the Special Agent's desk while smoothing down his expensive charcoal jacket, before grasping the hand in front of him.

"As you can see, you were just the person I was looking for as well," Hannibal replied, letting go of Jack's hand, before sitting back down at Jack's polite "please, sit".

"Okay, let's cut straight to the chase here, Hannibal," Jack started, as they were both seated.

"Let's," Hannibal agreed and leaned back in the chair, legs crossed and with his hands gathered in his lap.

"I need you to look after Will. He insisted on being put on the case and somehow managed to persuade me," Jack said, leaning back into his office chair, his face set in a look of displeased defeat.

"I see."

A brief silence stretched in the room with the unasked question.

"Can I persuade you?"

Before Hannibal had any chance to reply, the door to the office banged forcefully open, and the hurricane of a woman named Alana Bloom entered in a huff. Her steps were swift with purpose as she marched to the desk and slammed her palms into the wooden surface, her face alight with anger.

"Why did you put him on the case?" she asked, her tone unforgiving and the look on her normally delicate features suggesting the answer better come sooner rather than later.

'_News sure spread fast__'__,_ Jack found himself thinking before he was standing from his chair, positioning his hands on the desk to mirror Alana's.

"He needs to do this, Alana," he boomed back, standing up to Alana Bloom's challenge.

"He isn't stable Jack! He's personally involved with this case, and you're allowing him to obsess over it," she pointed out, lifting one hand from the desk to gesture the severity of her words.

As Jack didn't immediately answer, Alana looked over her shoulder to include the person she had noticed sitting in the chair when she had first entered, hopefully gaining an ally in this controversial topic.

"Hannibal. Say something, you can't possibly think this is a good idea!"

Alana was met with silence.

"I'm inclined to agree with Jack here, Alana. I'm not certain Will will be able to uphold a stable mind if he is not included in this investigation," he finally spoke, his words confident and his tone calm.

His mild mannered speech did nothing to placate Hurricane Alana, but only managed to aggravate her bothered temper further, making her turn her violently stormy mood towards Hannibal instead of Jack.

"What if he doesn't find her? What 'stable mind' will he have then? What if the only thing he gains from this is staggering guilt for not being able find her?"

Hannibal focused his composed gaze on the distraught woman in front of him.

"The guilt Will carries stems from his worries about having driven Miss Vodall away. He feels a certain responsibility for her, and the only way to redeem himself would be to find her and bring her home," Hannibal analyzed, having spent enough time with Will over the past couple of days to have his current mood figured out. Will had been reluctant to be in Hannibal's company, but Hannibal wasn't a psychiatrist for nothing, and he had diligently listened every time Will had been willing to divulge even the slightest tidbit of information about his feelings.

"In certain ways, Ashland is no different from the strays Will takes in, and though guilt may plague him for a while, it is nothing compared to the 'what if's' he would entertain if he was forced to leave the matter of her disappearance alone," Hannibal continued.

Alana's features softened into confusion and her demeanor changed, resembling when the air is let out of a ballon.

"Are you… comparing Ashland Vodall to a dog?" Alana questioned hesitantly, her eyes narrowing in questioning curiosity. It was a highly unorthodox comparison.

Hannibal lifted himself from the chair, standing by Jack's desk to face Alana on equal ground.

"The connection between them is strange, and built mostly on curiosity and a need for companionship, not entirely unlike Will's link to his dogs," he continued.

"And how does that have any effect on Will's…" Alana hesitated. " …Current situation?" she finished cautiously, not entirely sure whether she wanted to hear the reply or not.

"Due to his dedication to Miss Vodall, he will involve himself in this investigation, no matter what we say," the psychiatrist finished, turning towards Jack in a silent plead.

"Don't forget that this is a man's mental health we're playing with here, Hannibal," Alana warned. "I won't let him."

Jack, who had up until now been uncharacteristically quiet, decided it was time for him to offer his input to the discussion, and lifted his hands from the table, straightening out his back to stand at his full height.

"Well, that's not your decision to make, Alana," Jack spoke calmly, looking at the woman on the other side of the table.

"And it's yours?" she challenged, not at all liking the implications of Jack's reply.

"In case you're forgetting, I am the head of this investigation, so yes, it _is _my decision," Jack declared boldly, his voice gaining in volume before he walked towards the door to his office with clear intent to close the conversation.

Knowing the battle was lost Alana turned towards Hannibal, seeking to assuage her worries.

"Will you look after him?"

"I believe Jack was just asking me the same thing," Hannibal replied, his words making Jack halt by the doorway.

"We're on the same page then," Jack said, his tone displaying nothing of the irritation he had been broadcasting during the entirety of the discussion. His tone was pleasant, spurred on by the relief of having closed the topic of Will Graham.

"No, Jack. Right now, we're not even in the same book," Alana responded, her voice tainted with tired resignation, before she brushed past him, on the search for the only person who had any apparent say in this situation.

After all, a battle lost didn't mean she could't win the war.

* * *

The perplexing scene in front of her posed an excruciatingly inappropriate question that she had a hard time keeping in. Finding herself unable to quell her questioning mind, Ashland couldn't help but blurt out what she had so desperately been trying to hold in in front of her mother.

"Who died?"


	2. Enchevêtrement

Thank you guys for all of the reviews, favorites and follows; it's what keeps me going when my muse is on a leave, and what pushed me to finish this chapter.

Since I trust you have already noticed my apparent inability to give you guys regular updates, I won't promise the next one will be quick, but I _will _promise I will work as hard as I can on it, to make it quicker than the last one.

If you're curious and just can't wait, leave a review and I might send you a little sneak peak of the next chapter.

Now, enjoy!

Beta: NemiNightingale

* * *

"…Ash-… Ashland?" she choked out, her eyes wide in disbelief at the person standing right in front of her; a person she still wasn't quite sure wasn't a figment of her imagination.

"Hi mom, what's going on?" Ashland asked, her previously good mood melting away like snow in the sun at the dumbstruck look on her mom's face. "Why are you looking at me like that?" she continued, straightening her back as she grew uncomfortable with the strange stare she was receiving.

"Darling? Who is it?" Ashland heard a familiar voice call in the background, and just as she focused her gaze on her father, who was now visible over her mother's shoulder, the woman in front of her crumpled, suddenly falling to the floor, seemingly unconscious.

"MOM!" Ashland shrieked, immediately dropping her bag in panic in order to reach for her motionless mother.

Ashland looked up to meet the eyes of an equally shocked man whose shock wasn't directed at his immobile wife, but towards his daughter. The guests started piling into the foyer, escalating her panic as they pushed and shoved forward in order to see what all the commotion was about. A wave of disbelief cloaked the crowd as her friends and family, one by one, noticed her; their limbs stiffened and whatever movement they were carrying out before spotting her was halted abruptly, their mouths opened unattractively in awe. Had it been any other situation, Ashland would have cracked a zombie joke, but nothing seemed funny to her at the moment; it was all overshadowed by the woman lying frozen on the ground.

The few seconds it took for her to react felt like hours, but she was quick to regain her composure.

"Well, don't just stand there! Help me get her inside!" she barked, horrified at their lack of movement; no one stepped forward to help her.

Their apathy had her stumped, until the voice of her father commanded her attention.

"But Ashland. I thought… We thought… You were dead."

* * *

The damp soil squelched beneath his boots as he trudged forwards, trying to keep up with his rambunctious dogs who were enjoying the bleak February weather. Christmas had come and gone, and after the spirit of the holidays had evaporated, Will found himself longing for the coming of spring with something akin to girlish anticipation.

The sound of a second pair of boots stepping down the mud alerted him to her presence. He had a feeling she would be coming to see him.

"I thought you would be looking for Hannibal right about now," a voice spoke from behind him, confirming his suspicion.

"Alana." The greeting was neutral and free from any emotion.

"Will." Alana stepped forward, sparing a glance towards the man beside her, noticing his stiff posture and fixed gaze. Her eyes followed his, allowing an amused smile to grace her lips at the sight of the boisterous dogs enjoying themselves in the muddy field.

"So why aren't you?" she questioned, looking away from Buster as he did a particularly impressive rolling maneuver to catch Will's gaze. She was not successful.

"Contrary to popular belief, Hannibal can be… Hard to find, when he doesn't want to be found."

"What makes you think he doesn't want to be found?"

"My inability to find him."

Alana couldn't hold back a small twitch of her lips as Will finally decided to look at her. It seemed the two of them had very different experiences with Hannibal Lecter.

"Did Jack put you up to this?" Will, finally finding it within himself to turn towards her, questioned, his arms crossing over his chest as he observed her reaction.

It was only after a small silence when it became obvious that Will was patiently awaiting her response, no other words to say to her than those he had already said, that Alana felt inclined to answer: "I could ask you the same thing."

She couldn't help thinking that after this conversation, he would without a doubt have an abundance of words to say to her or - perhaps more likely - about her.

His gaze was locked on her as he softened up a bit, allowing a dry comment to pass his chapped lips: "I think Jack would rather have me in a straight jacket than on the field."

The remark was accompanied by a raised eyebrow and a sarcastic tone that Alana immediately recognized as Will's way of joking.

She didn't laugh.

"You're wrong about that, you know."

She mirrored Will, crossing her arms over her chest, rubbing her arms to soothe her chilly limbs.

"I'm fairly certain I'm not."

He turned away again, whistling sharply to get the attention of his dogs. Calling for them, Will turned back towards his house, his great band of canines right on his heels as he headed for his warm abode.

"And to answer your question: No, Jack didn't put me up to anything. Other than staying out of your business," Alana spoke, hastily extracting her boots from the mud in order to catch up with Will.

"That going _well_ for you?"

A small laugh escaped her.

"Evidently not," she spoke, the humor in her voice clear as day.

"Evidently not," Will confirmed, his tone dry but lacking the bitterness of a remark meant for mocking; he couldn't exactly blame her for questioning his motivations.

They walked in silence for a couple of minutes before they reached the house, a short but arduous trek that had given him sufficient time to think.

"Why did you come here, Alana?"

He stopped before the steps to his porch, turning around to face her with a straight back and his head held high. Will had decided. He knew he couldn't entirely trust her, and would not be letting her inside again. Not in his house, not in his head and definitely not in his heart. Sensing his resolve, Alana knew she had to tread carefully if she were to lead this conversation where she wanted it to go.

"Why does there need to be a 'why'? Am I not allowed to visit my friend on Valentine's Day?" she asked, a slight smile on her face that had Will scoffing at the obvious attempt to distract him from the real issue.

"What, were you expecting a date?"

The idea of a date with Alana Bloom, which might have been an appealing thought to him once, now seemed to be an unrealistic dream fabricated by a naive mind; a dream he found himself very disinclined to realize. Not that his thoughts on the matter would make much of a difference. Alana Bloom had made herself very clear on the topic of their romantic relations, or perhaps rather lack thereof.

"Were you?"

It really shouldn't have surprised him that she was challenging him in a way entirely inappropriate for two work colleagues who had almost crossed the line from professionalism into the deep waters of unsuitable office romances and disapproving workplace slander.

"I'm not in a very… Romantic mood lately."

His tone left no doubts in her mind that her comment had not had the intended effect of soothing Will's bleak mood, and instead seemed to have had the opposite effect on his already sour disposition.

Realizing her mistake, Alana inwardly winced. So much for treading carefully. Will had obviously been much more than just _friendly _with Ashland Vodall.

"Right, I'm sorry," Alana mumbled, her gaze respectfully settling on his to convey a look of sympathy.

But it was an apology he didn't find himself quite ready to accept, so he remained silent. Alana, knowing she had blown all chances of making this a pleasant visit, steeled herself and asked the dreaded question they had both been waiting for.

"Are you sure it's a good idea you're helping out with the investigation?"

Will looked away and shook his head, not in answer to her question, but to the fact that she still had the gall to mention the case of Ashland Vodall, after having so rudely made allusions to their romantic attachment.

"So that's why you're here, I... almost mistook your visit for one with friendly intentions."

The sharpness of his sarcastic tone would have pierced through the armor of lesser women than Alana Bloom, but she wasn't deterred in the slightest.

"It is. And don't tell me you weren't expecting me."

The atmosphere had - with the help of a few treacherous words - turned from buoyant to reminiscent of the chilly February weather and could easily turn from bad to worse, were the two colleagues not to watch their words.

"That doesn't stop me from hoping I'm wrong."

"No, I can see that."

Her words were laced with an underlying accusation, one he easily recognized.

"I'm not wrong about her, Alana," he calmly refuted.

"You are wrong about _me_, Will."

Her words were quiet and accompanied by an imposing gaze, one that bored itself deep into his eyes as if she were looking straight into his soul.

'_Knowing her,__'_ Will thought, _'__she probably is__'_.

"Jury's still out on that one," he disagreed, turning around to join his dogs that were patiently waiting for him by the door to his house. "Go home, Alana," he finished, opening the screen door before turning the knob to enter the living room.

"And what are you going to do then, Will?"

He paused.

"I'm going to find her"

* * *

When Linda's eyes opened, she was at a loss as to where she was. She blinked and focused her gaze on the ceiling above her, trying to clear her groggy mind.

'_Was it a dream?__' _ she thought, relaxing into the soft cushion beneath her with closed eyes for a couple of seconds to gather the courage to find out.

"Mom, are you awake?"

The sound of Ashland's voice could not have sounded any more beautiful to her ears; had she been deaf all her life and was granted the gift of hearing to first be presented with an exquisite symphony, it still would not have come close to the sound of her daughter's concerned and very much _alive_ voice.

Linda's body reacted before she could register what she was doing, her arms going around her daughter's neck, clutching onto her, like her life depended on it.

"Ashland… You're here. You're really here," she sobbed, tears streaming down her face, instantly wetting the fabric of Ashland's shirt.

Ashland returned her mother's embrace, although reluctantly as she shot a confused look over her shoulder to her still bewildered father.

"Of course mom. I'm here, don't cry," she mumbled softly into Linda's ear, rubbing her back in a soothing gesture.

It took a couple of minutes before her sobs receded and the desperate wails turned into sniffles, and only then was she able to speak coherently again.

"For how long was I out?" she croaked, drying her eyes before trying to straighten out her hair and clothes; she needed to get a hold on herself.

"Only for a minute or two," Ashland's father spoke suddenly, making his startled daughter jump. He had been quiet for so long, she had almost expected him to go into chock. And apparently for a very good reason. He seemed to be having a hard time coming to terms with the fact that she was alive. She just didn't understand what made them think she was dead. Ashland wasn't stupid; she knew a wake when she saw one, and given the presence of a beautifully framed high school yearbook picture starring her it seemed given who the ceremony was for. Why she seemed to be playing the leading role in this one was a question she would love to have answered.

"Why did you faint, mom?"

The silence following the seemingly simple question felt suffocating. Sensing his spouse was unable to answer, John took a deep breath and spoke the words Ashland had been dreading: "We thought you were dead."

Having her suspicions proven valid did nothing to calm the hurricane of confusion inside of her.

"Why?"

Her desperate tone triggered the return of Linda's tears, which prompted a concerned John to take Ashland's place in order to comfort his distraught wife. Linda waved him away, taking a deep breath before drying her tears.

"A man from the police department, or, honey, was it the FBI? I-I can't remember. They called and told us that your apartment building had been burned down, and that they had found your ID on…" Linda's voice choked up, but she managed to continue, calmed by her husband's comforting hand on her lower back. "…on a body and… Well, of course we insisted on going down there to Washington, you know, to identify the…" she stopped again, her voice quivering at the thought. "…the body, but we were told… That there wasn't much to identify anymore," she finished, looking as confused and defeated as Ashland was feeling.

It was hard for Ashland to keep track as Linda muddled her way through the proceedings, but she got the gist of it. Somehow, someone had faked her death.

"But I don't understand, why are you here? Haven't you talked to Bess?"

The statement startled Ashland out of her short contemplating reverie, and added to the millions of things that had her stumped.

"Bess? Why would I have heard from Bess?" she questioned, mentally absent as she - with great disdain - eyed a rude guest, who was peeking her head out of the kitchen while clearly eavesdropping. Why those people hadn't left by now was a mystery to her.

Her parents shared a look before settling their gazes on her.

"Well, she called us and told us you she had gotten a call from someone you know who had told her that you were in trouble somehow and that you needed her there," her mother spoke cautiously. They didn't understand Ashland's confusion.

"What do you mean? What kind of trouble?" Ashland demanded, her brows scrunching together in bewilderment.

"I don't know sweetie, she didn't tell us much. Told us she was going to miss her flight. She was… She sounded very distraught," Linda started, turning towards her husband for aid. "What was his name, darling? The man who called Bess?"

The contemplative look on John's face had Ashland tapping her foot in impatience, and she was almost ready to burst by the time he exhaled heavily and was ready to answer the question.

"I think it was Will, or William or something like that," his reply came.

The answer was as shocking and baffling as the rest of this conversation had been.

Why was nothing making _sense_?

"Will? I don't understand. Why would he call Bess? He doesn't even know her," Ashland questioned, her voice in a much higher pitch than usual. Somehow Ashland couldn't blame her mother for fainting.

"I suppose you'll have to ask him."

* * *

Will was watching Alana's car driving down the dirt driveway to his house, towards the equally worn, paved surface of the road leading away from Wolf Trap and into Washington, as he felt the phone in his pocket vibrate. He reached for it with a sluggish hand, reluctant to be forced into another conversation that could very well lead to _another _troublesome argument.

His brows scrunched together at the unknown number causing his phone to stir in his hand, but within a short few seconds he found himself pushing the button to accept the call. Cautiously bringing the device to his ear, he mumbled a quiet "Hello?", while shoving his other hand into his pocket to shield it from the cold wind.

"Will?" it came, from a familiar voice on the other end of the line.

'_It can__'__t be__'_, Will thought, coming close to dropping the phone at the sound of the voice that rapidly melted the cold away inside him and left him feeling flushed and heated in the cold winter weather, like a heating blanket had been dropped onto his shoulders.

"Ashland?" he questioned hesitantly, carefully disregarding the firework of emotions that was erupting inside of him, distancing himself from the ambivalent range of both resentment and affection he felt welling up inside, before he was absolutely certain it was her.

He didn't want to go through losing her. _Again._

"Will," she said, her voice no louder than the whisper she had heard from her abandoned lover. "I'm sorry," she continued, not entirely knowing how to go about apologizing for this entire mess. "I shouldn't have left you like that," it came from her, knowing her actions had been rushed and very badly thought out.

"I _would _have appreciated if you hadn't left me with nothing but an unidentifiable dead body," Will replied, his tone tense but with a teasing edge to it. "A note would have done the trick."

She hesitated, not entirely knowing what to say.

"I…I called as soon as I heard," she offered weakly, knowing very well it was an extremely poor attempt to make nice. And even though she should have anticipated his reaction, the silence on the other end of the line left a spark of irritation, as she knew half of this mess wasn't entirely her fault. After all, _she_ hadn't been the one to kill whoever was now dead instead of her.

"Look, I went back to my parents because I needed to think and-, and…" she continued, her voice having gained some volume and confidence from her frustration. But her growing desperation had no influence on the man on the other end of the line, and he remained silent.

Ashland deflated a bit.

"I'm sorry… I'm a bit… Uh," she choked out, uncertain of how to proceed from here. This was turning out to be terribly awkward; the type of situation she prided herself on being able to avoid.

With a sigh, Will finally gave up trying to come off as unaffected and hesitantly answered Ashland.

"Yeah, I know, me too... I don't understand what's happening. Why would anyone…?" he trailed off, looking out towards the setting sun, creating a contemplative lull in the conversation.

"I'm not entirely sure," Ashland replied, knowing the sentence 'not entirely sure' was exaggerating how much she knew. She had no clue why anyone would be out to get her, and even less why someone would kill for her. It was all very confusing and terrifying.

"Have you contacted the police?" Will asked, changing the topic to pull the conversation towards a more comfortable subject for him.

"No, I didn't know who to call, so I figured…" Ashland trailed off.

"That you'd call me," he finished for her. "I suspect Jack Crawford will want to talk to you. I'll call him and get him to contact you," he finished, his voice distanced and clearly taking on a more business-like approach that sent a stab of hurt through Ashland.

Knowing it was her own doing she took a breath to speak, but closed her mouth before she could say anything. Staying silent for a couple of seconds she quietly asked: "Do you think I should go back?" before quickly continuing: "Not that I wasn't planning to, I just…"

"I think you'll have to. Jack will want to confirm your identity."

"And you don't?"

This time the hurt in her voice was clear as day, and he easily picked up on it, feeling the guilt wash over him like a tidal wave.

"I don't need to," his voice warmed slightly, reassuring her, before changing back to his business-like composure.

"I'll talk to you soon," he quickly finished, taking the phone from his ear to end the call before Ashland could manage more than a short: "Will-" before the phone disconnected.

He looked down to his phone and checked his contacts, looking for one person in particular.

"Jack, where can I find you?"

For the second time this day, he needed to speak to Jack Crawford.

* * *

Ashland looked down on her phone in frustration; Will had hung up on her. He had _hung up on her. _Before she had gotten the chance to ask him about the mysterious phone call to her best friend.

She had been so struck by the sound of his voice that she had completely forgotten about it until the last second of the call, where he decided to _hang up on her_. Bastard.

Looks like she would just have to ask him in person.

"Dad, can you drive me to the airport?"

* * *

After an exhaustingly frustrating conversation with Jack about Ashland, Will found himself outside the B.A.U., walking with heavy steps towards the parking lot. The day had been so full of surprises and revelations, that waking up this morning felt like months ago. He could hardly believe it had been no more than 10 hours since he was stepping out of bed, unknowing of the fact that his _not quite_ girlfriend was still alive.

This was way too much drama in one day for his taste.

"Are you working on the Ashland Vodall case?"

'_Out of the frying pan, and into the fire,__' _Will thought to himself. He was just about ready to hit someone, preferably the specific _someone_ behind him. He could not seem to get a single moment to himself to process all of the new information he had so abruptly been introduced to today.

"I thought you were banned from B.A.U. property, Miss Lounds?" Will questioned, continuing his walk towards his car in the hopes she wouldn't follow him.

He knew he shouldn't have dared to hope.

"I'll take that as a 'yes'," she replied shrewdly.

He heard the clicks of her heels increase in frequency, signaling her determination in keeping up with him, and, furthermore, her determination in getting her hands on whatever gossip she was trying to dig up.

"Take it as a 'stay out of my business'."

He quickened his pace, adamant in reaching his car before doing something drastic; getting arrested for punching a journalist wouldn't look too good on his resumé, assuming he'd have to find a new job if he couldn't control his urges to plant his fist in Freddie Lounds' face, an impulse which was becoming dangerously difficult to resist.

"I shouldn't be surprised, really. With Ashland Vodall being your girlfriend, who could really blame you for wanting to find her killer?"

Her voice was much too earnest, alerting him to the fact that her intentions were most likely all but. Knowing he wasn't likely to get out of this situation, he stopped and took a deep breath, trying to keep himself calm while waiting for her to catch up to him. The longer he ignored her, the more likely she was to stalk him until he conceded; he might as well get it over with.

"I hope you know stalking is a felony," he stated casually, skipping the conventional greetings as he turned around to face the shifty redhead chasing him.

The smile he gained in return was forced and accentuated her sharp features, making her look more than anything like a rodent, ready to sink her teeth into every single piece of information she could get her filthy paws on.

"Only if you have a restraining order."

The implications in her casual comment were clear.

"It shouldn't be too hard to get," he warned, an eyebrow raised in challenge.

"I don't need to be around you to get the information I need," her answer came, rising to his challenge, as he had hoped she wouldn't.

"Who do you have spying for you this time?" he mumbled, turning around to continue the short walk to his car; he saw no need to further encourage her ramblings.

"I have my sources."

Will hesitated, knowing she was doing it to purposely rile him up, but started walking away from her, speaking over his shoulder to - hopefully - get the last word in this conversation.

"Of course you do; it has happened before, it will happen again. I wouldn't put it past you to hire snakes to do your bidding - you're halfway there to having scales yourself," he threw over his shoulder before he could hear her semi-jogging in her high heels, catching up to him faster than he would have liked her to.

"I'm no Medusa," she spoke, her demeanor suggesting she was strangely flattered by her own comparison.

"Your journalistic horrors have the ability to petrify people, you don't need to be a Gorgon to do that," he scoffed, _finally_ reaching his car.

He unlocked it, opened the door and got in, shutting the door in her face.

A tapping on the window alerted him to the fact that she was _still standing there,_ even though his door-slamming tendencies had been a very clear 'fuck off'.

Suppressing the savage urge to slam the door open into her face, he rolled down the window a few inches, just enough for him to hear what she was saying.

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"You shouldn't."

* * *

"The person you are calling is temporarily unavailable, please try again later," the automated phone message informed, for the fifth time in a row. Ashland looked down on the phone, a frown etched onto her face. Elizabeth practically lived through her smartphone, and now it was suddenly _unavailable_? Ashland couldn't even recall the last time Bess had been unavailable to take her calls.

Ashland's gut clenched with worry, but she pushed it down, rationalizing the situation. She shouldn't be worried yet; after all, Ashland herself had been unavailable for the entire duration of her road trip, having unfortunately lost her phone in all the confusion when she had hurriedly left for Montana. _That _hadn't meant anything bad; it was just an unlucky occurrence. Hopefully she would be able to say the same for her good friend.

About to call up Elizabeth's number yet again to soothe her frazzled nerves, she looked up towards the departure screen, stopping her thumb half an inch from touching the green button on the screen of her borrowed phone. She was supposed to be boarding now.

"Crap," she muttered, pocketing her phone while hurriedly walking towards gate Z-6 to the plane that would take her back home to Washington.

Through her rush, she didn't feel her phone vibrating in her pocket; a respond to her many calls that was now left unanswered.


End file.
